


'You want to stay and watch a movie?'

by sorrybabyxx



Category: Killing Eve
Genre: Father Daughter fluff, Gen, Pre-Season 1, Villanelle and Konstantin bickering, and being buddies, assassin handler fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 14:24:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrybabyxx/pseuds/sorrybabyxx
Summary: What I imagine happened post-prison but pre-season 1 as Villanelle settled into her new apartment in Paris and new life in the Twelve with Konstantin's help.A one-shot of Konstantin and Villanelle's father/daughter fluff because I love them and miss them already and I don't know how much we are going to see of them together next season.





	'You want to stay and watch a movie?'

The apartment was nice, and no more than Oksana needed. It was believable that a successful woman in her 20s could afford a place like that in Paris. If Oksana hadn’t been so fixated on France and Paris, specifically, she could be living in the lap of luxury.

When he let her in, she paced the rooms, feeling the flow of the space. It rendered her silent for once. He left her gazing out her bedroom window to the streets of Paris, a shit-eating grin pinching both of her cheeks. Konstantin wanted to give her a chance to settle in. It also gave Konstantin time to check in with his life back in Russia, the wife and daughter, he wanted to keep from worrying.

His wife was suspicious, already, and made her displeasure known about the travel his ‘new job’ required. She thought he was having an affair. She kept it from her voice as she put him on loudspeaker. He wondered absently what would go down better, that he was settling his newly trained assassin into her new life - now that she was officially dead - or that he was unfaithful?

Irina, his daughter, thought it was cool and made him promise to take her. ‘One-day sausage, I promise.’ He had already bought her two gifts, the guilt of being away from her was eating him alive. During the phone call, the sky had darkened, and the streets had emptied. When he arrived back at the apartment, he let himself. The door caught about halfway.

Sighing, he sucked in and shimmied through.

She’d been shopping. Numerous designer bags lay empty and disregarded in the entryway, the chaos concealed the large box that blocked the door. He cleared them away with his foot and read it. A TV. She had been busy.

He found her in her room, now furnished with a mattress. Her hair was up and covered by a plastic cap – developing her new identity. She had laid all of her purchases out on her bed, eager to admire them all at once. It was a mound, speckled with glitter, satin, silk, and sparkles. It entranced her.

‘So, what do you want to do to celebrate?’ he asked, announcing himself.

His question was slow to register but eventually, she turned those cat-like eyes on him. ‘I already ordered. Did you bring the movies?’

‘Yes,’ he said, lifting a plastic bag aloft for her to see. ‘Enough for me, I hope?’

She crossed the room to him in two long strides, commanding grace and spring absent from her when they met. She had been - as politely and honestly as he could put it - feral. She had excelled in training, yet it had left its marks. Bruises still dotted the surface of her skin. It had fortified her. Her cracked knuckles had turned to calluses. They had carved her body to serve them. He could see it in her face and form. She held herself taller aware of her power.

‘Of course,’ she said, patting his prickly cheek as her other hand cradled an ornate bottle of perfume. She offered it to him as she glided to the bathroom. The bottle was a globe with a golden band running the length of its circumference that read, La Villanelle. He got a waft of something faint as she cracked the lid. Freesias, maybe? Everything else about it was outdone by the smell of peroxide that wafted from her hair.

He heard her start the tap when there was a knock at the front door.

‘Can you get it?’ She called from the bathroom.

He opened the door, handed the kid the rough amount – he was horrible with conversion rates - and waved him off. The smell hit him before he peered into the bag, sodium, and steam. His suspicions were confirmed when he stuck his head in and he saw fogged up containers of rice and noodles.

He laughed out loud as he took it through to the dining room, now fitted with a TV and boxes that would do as a table. ‘The first night of your new life – in the most romantic cities in the world and you order Chinese?’

She emerged in a silk robe, her hair wet, but noticeably lighter. The robe was new. It was like a tapestry, showing the change of season and the falling of cherry blossoms. She pulled it around herself as she fell back beside him and dived immediately into the food.

He gathered what she hadn’t hoarded in front of her and took up the flimsy chopsticks in between his fingers. They felt like toothpicks.

‘You don’t have any cutlery?’ he asked.

She shook her head. He separated the chopsticks and struggled for a moment, trying to get his grip right. ‘Did you go to see Anna?’ She asked around a mouthful of noodles as if she timed it for when he had just managed wrangled his own mouthful.

‘Yes,’ he answered and added, ‘Chew your food.’ He watched the noodles slid from between his chopsticks as he closed the distance to his mouth.

She chewed dramatically but with her lips sealed then swallowed hard before she spoke again, ‘Did she cry?’ Her question caught him off guard.

‘Not Infront of me,’ he said trying to keep his answered measured.

‘Did she seem sad?’ She pressed. She was searching for something.

‘She didn’t want to believe me,’ he offered. Oksana scoffed, shoveling in another mouthful of Hokkien noodles.

He frowned. That woman, Anna, she was so… plain and quaint. But her eyes they had burned when he said Oksana name, but with what, he could not tell. Oksana’s connection to her was dangerous, that much he was sure of. ‘Forget about her, you will never see her again. I am serious, Oksana.’

‘Don’t call me that. Oksana is dead.’ Her face was blank, eyes pointed at the TV screen as she echoed his words back to him.

‘You picked a new name?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her gloom gone swallowed up by a smile. She paused dramatically before she spoke. ‘Villanelle. Eh, what do you think?’

He remembered the perfume and he wondered which came first. ‘Subtle,’ he said delving into a full-bellied laugh. He sobered up to the scowl twisting Villanelle's face.

'I like it,' she said, her lips a thin line ready to pout.

'Pass me a dim sum then, Villanelle,' he said, his smile lingering. She snapped it up in her chopsticks and he went to take it with his fingers when she pulled it from his reach.

‘When is my first real job?’ she asked, holding his dim sum hostage between slowly compressing chopsticks.

It was by design that the Twelve was so disconnected. You weren’t meant to know who you were really working for. It did have its downfalls, there was no way to sit an asset down and preach the greater cause to them. So, making an asset loyalty to their handler paramount. Konstantin knew that didn’t bother Villanelle, the facelessness of her overlord. It was the lack of attention, them no knowing she was incredible, that gnawed away at her.

‘Soon. They are eager to see your work.’

‘Of course, they are.’ Satisfied, she dropped the dim sum into his container.

He placed the little baggy he had been carrying on to the makeshift table. ‘As you requested – some of the most popular movies you missed in the last three years.’

For this, she put down her container, pouring through the stack murmuring the titles to herself as she went, ‘_The Intouchables_, _John Wick_, _The Avengers_, _Frozen_?’

She spun the cover of _Frozen_ to him, raising an eyebrow.

‘It is a masterpiece,’ he said solemnly.

Oksana cocked her eyebrow at him further, ‘I doubt that.’

He shrugged. Irina made him watch it with her every Saturday and the soundtrack mysteriously ended up in his car. A pang of guilt and homesickness settled into his heart at the thought. Something Villanelle would have noticed if she hadn’t just reached the final DVD case. Her face lit up.

‘The last _Harry_ _Potter_! I have been waiting for three years to find out how this ended.’

‘They don’t have books in prison?’

‘Do I look like a nerd?’

She got up to put the movie in, insisting they watched it in English. When she rejoined him, he leant back on his hands and felt the flick of the postcard in his pocket bending, attempting and to poke out. He shoved it in deeper, that could wait, he decided. She deserved tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Spelling and grammar is not my strength so I apologise if there are any mistakes


End file.
